


Finals Week

by Moorishflower



Series: Fifty AUs [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finals week is hell for more than just one reason. For the prompt " Gabriel is sleeping over at Dean’s apartment, because Gabriel has his finals and Michael and Lucifer are fighting -- again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finals Week

Before Gabriel actually had a boyfriend, he would have said that the best thing about not being single was the sex. _Of course_ , right? Sex is awesome. Frequent, increasingly wilder sex is even better. Except, now that he _has_ a boyfriend, he finds that he can easily say that no, sex isn’t the best thing about not being single. Maybe it’s like, the third best thing, behind being able to get home-cooked food whenever he wants…and behind being able to hide out at said boyfriend’s apartment.

Dean lives with his brother Sam, so it’s not like they’re totally alone or anything, but being alone isn’t what Gabriel wants. Not really. What he wants is to be able to get away from the screaming and violence of his brothers, if only for a little while. What he wants is for Lucifer to stop doing drugs (he can’t even name specific ones, because Lucifer’s done so many that he’s lost track), and for Michael to stop being a sanctimonious prick, and for Raphael to stop being so bitter and hateful. What he wants (still, after all these years) is for their father to come back and just…fix everything. Even though it’s been twenty years, and if it hasn’t happened by now it probably never will.

That’s what Gabriel wants. What he _gets_ is Dean Winchester, and his shitty little apartment that’s seriously like fifteen feet from the highway. What he gets is Dean’s monster of a car parked _just so_ in the lot outside, so Gabriel can hide his Vespa behind the bulk of it and neither of them have to put any money towards a second parking space. He gets the smell of pizza wafting out from the kitchen, and the drone of the television, and the sound of Sam’s fingers clack-clack-clacking against his keyboard in the bedroom.

What he gets is Dean’s arm around his shoulders, a cold beer in his other hand, as he talks fondly about the motorcycle he saw today.

“You’d look good on a bike,” Dean says, and Gabriel snorts.

“You mean I’d look good smeared across the highway.”

“Aw, _please_. The way you drive that fuckin’ scooter of yours…”

“It’s a _Vespa_.”

“Whatever.” Gabriel reaches over and viciously pinches Dean’s thigh. It doesn’t do much when your target is wearing thick jeans, unfortunately. Dean still laughs. They sit for a long while in companionable silence. Gabriel has his textbooks spread out in front of him, but he can’t focus on them. Lucifer’s screams and curses are still too fresh.

Dean nudges him with his shoulder, and then, when Gabriel turns to look at him, quickly steals a kiss. He grins at Gabriel’s puzzled expression. “You know how I am with…y’know, feelings and stuff…”

“Oh, you mean how you’re an emotionally stunted husk of a man?”

Gabriel gets a gentle shove for that one. “Yeah, whatever. But, I mean…if you need to talk?”

“Because you’re so good at that.”

“Or you can, you know, continue to be a douche when I’m trying to be helpful.”

Gabriel, frowning, reaches up to touch his temples. He has a headache, and he feels, abruptly, ashamed of himself. “I…Sorry.”

Dean’s arm winds around him, giving him a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, dude. It’s your family, right?”

Life is so strange, so complicated and often terrible, and yet Dean somehow finds a way to sum up almost all of Gabriel’s problems in four simple words.

“Not just my family,” he protests, and Dean levels him with a _look_. “There’s finals, too.”

“Since when have finals stressed you out?” Gabriel doesn’t have an answer to that, and Dean snorts. “You’re as smart as Sam is, I should know. Now, you gonna talk?”

“I…” Is that what he needs? What he wants? No, Gabriel doesn’t have any trouble with what he wants. What he wants is for Dean to kiss him, to drive away all the bad thoughts with pheromones and hormones and other things that end in –mones and will make him feel good. He wants Dean’s cock in his mouth, so badly that he’s almost salivating over it, and Jesus Christ, what does that make him? Some kind of sex fiend?

That’s what he wants. What he gets, of course, is Dean, leaning over him in his shitty little apartment, on his couch that he and his brother scavenged from the side of the road, and Dean…kisses him. Not the rough, passionate kiss that he’d thought he wanted, but this sweet, chaste peck on the lips, the kind you’d see on a soap opera from the 60’s, before making out on public television was considered normal. Dean’s lips are chapped and his breath smells like nachos and beer, and yet…and yet Gabriel melts into the kiss like he’s a teenager at his prom night, and his date is the most popular boy in school. His fingers curl in the couch cushions, like a fucking cat or something, and when Dean finally pulls away (it feels like an eternity, even though he didn’t do much more than rest their lips together), Gabriel chases after his mouth with the sort of single-minded determination he usually only manages to muster up for tests and full-blown sex.

It takes him a minute to remember that he has a brain and he can actually use it, but when he does, he shakes his head. “I think I’ll be okay.” Dean frowns at him, and he quickly adds, “Not _okay_ okay, but…I don’t think I need to talk.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just…one thing?”

Dean’s arm curls around Gabriel’s shoulders, sudden warmth and weight. His skin smells like that mint soap that Gabriel made him get, mostly because he’d been trying to push his boyfriend boundaries (Dean had drawn the line at getting strawberry-scented shampoo).

“Anything, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe, for starters.” He tucks his head beneath Dean’s chin, sighing. “And just…sit here with me, for a while.”

“Just sit?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel closes his eyes. “Just sit.”

He has a final tomorrow, and he should be studying…but he’s too distracted by the fact that his family has been sitting here all along, in a shitty apartment on an equally shitty, curb-scavenged couch, smelling like nachos, and beer, and mint.  



End file.
